Nick knocked the chair backwards banging on the floor, as he rushed out the door. He returned much later, past the time they would have la cena together. He could see two dishes of pasta amatriciana lying in the sink basin uneaten and an empty bottle of red wine on the table. Caterina gazed at the wine glass and ignored Nick. He found an old San Francisco Chronicle on the dresser, which his mother has sent him weeks ago. Before Nick picked the newspaper up, he spotted a picture of the two of them, his arms around Caterina sitting at a table in Caffè Greco. It was wedged into the frame of the attached mirror. He removed the photo and studied it for a while, then placed it back in the same spot. He grabbed the paper and sat down at the table, pretending to read an article for a few minutes.
“Mi dispiace! I shouldn’t have acted the way I did.”
Caterina turned her head and said: “Come and watch the stars.” He followed her to the window, where she traced her finger on the upper part of the glass. “One of your favorite things to look at, no?”
Nick opened the windows and they peeked out. He placed his hands on her shoulder, lowering his head to get a better look. “That’s the Pleiades up there. The Seven Sisters of Calypso.”
“A good omen?”
“Yeah, Caterina. Good things are in the stars tonight.” He lied knowing the myth revealed that, while mourning for a loved one, the sisters committed suicide.
She swung around and grabbed his hands. “Come to bed. You won’t think so much when you lie with me.” Caterina led him there but their lovemaking did not last long. Nick got up from bed, went over to the window.
“Prego. Shut the window. It’s getting cold here.”
He ignored her, took out a cigarette and lit up. She remained silent and waited for him to finish his smoke, as she pulled the covers up to her neck.
“I’m going back to my old place. There’s been a lot of activity at headquarters. I need to be closer in case of an emergency.”
“What are you talking about? Just because Nathan is alone, you have to run back now. He’ll do fine without you there.”
Nick threw the lit butt out the window, as it smoked itself out. He put his trousers and shirt on and quickly tied his shoes.
“Where are you going so late in the night?”
He grabbed his coat off a hook on the wall and swung it over his shoulder. “I think we need to be separate for awhile, so I can sort things out for myself.”
“You walk out on me now, then I swear you will never see me again.” She sat up in the bed. “I thought you loved me!”
“I never said it that way.”
“Allora, you feel love in your heart not with idle talk. I thought to myself, sooner or later, the words would follow, but you leave me now as if I have just been paid.” She got up and turned her back to him, her shoulders heaving up and down. “Va! You can sneak in here to get the rest of your things when I am at work.” His footsteps echoed down the stairs.
Nick pulled his collar up, as he hiked back to his old haunt. As his feet crunched on the ground, he assessed how things were unraveling. He had reasoned for a clean break with Caterina since Nathan and he were being sent north to Firenze within the week, where the CIC was setting up a new unit. He hadn’t told Caterina about his new assignment, but the more he thought about it, Nick convinced himself that he didn’t want to be cemented to any woman, rationalizing that Deborah and now Caterina had turned into phantasms floating above him at night. And anyway he couldn’t trust Caterina after the second incident with that strunzu from Caffé Greco. Maybe going to the same café with Caterina had been a lame-brained thing to do. But things were never that simple, as if anyone could redo things and erase the past like it never happened. Sure he was being hard on Caterina but a lot of his emotional guts had been spilled as soon as he landed in Sicily.
He also couldn’t get it out of his head that, even if his luck held out and he returned home safe to his famigghia, his cuginu was still dead. How could he face Ziu Francesco, who would forever connect Paul and him going off to war together? He never should have teamed up with Paul, like he was bad luck for his cousin. Caterina, a Milanese, would never understand an American, especially one with Sicilian roots. She would be better off without him. He was so conflicted about everything he didn’t know who he was fooling, least of all himself.
Nick gently opened the lock of the door, closed it behind him but still woke Nathan who had become a light sleeper.
“What’s going on, buddy?” Nathan rubbed his eyes and sat up.
“I’m back.”
“That’s obvious.”
“Carlo’s gone and I didn’t want you to be lonely.”
“You left Caterina?” He scratched his forehead.
“Yeah.”
“You’re a dumb schmuck!”
“That’s not what you said when I first started seeing her.”
“You never let that go. When you were in Venice, I found Caterina to be a complex person, full of life. Despite everything, she’s a mensch and I stand by my comment. You’re a schmuck.”
“I’m going to bed.”
Nick didn’t bother to take his clothes off and flopped on the cot, face down. Nate continued cursing his buddy in English, peppering it with Yiddish, German and Italian, for making such a poor decision. Nick covered his ears with the pillow until Nathan stopped. Before falling asleep, he mulled over his lie to Caterina about the sign from Pleiades.
XX
By the spring of 1945 Nick and Nathan were ensconced in their new Florence location and had read the full battle report on liberation of the city during the summer of 1944. It had been declared an ‘open city,’ sparing Firenze the destruction of its Renaissance palazzi and chiese. But before the German Army retreated, the Gestapo executed many partigiani and political sympathizers in the streets and the Piazza Santo Spirito, a prominent public square across the Arno River from the headquarters of the Nazi Command and the fascist OVRA, stationed at La Villa Trieste. German soldiers set off mines, blowing up all the bridges on the Arno, except for the Ponte Vecchio, reducing to rubble the old neighborhoods on either side of that bridge, including sections of the Vasari Corridor that connected the Palazzo Vecchio with the Palazzo Pitti, the access to the bridge sealed off.
The tedium of their work wore on them, as they waited for the war to end, so when they had some free time, they explored the cultural sites that were still open, including the grandest one of all, the Duomo, the Basilica di Santa Maria del Fiore. To reach the lantern in the cupola, they would have to climb 463 steps. Nick considered his bad leg and Nathan’s unexpected seizures and felt that the climb might be a mistake. Nick motioned to the front pew and Nathan sat down and he slid in next to him. They studied the massive core of the dome.
“That’s some fresco in the dome, Nick. Too bad it’s coated with dirt and dust.”
“From what I can make out in that section …” Nick pointed to the bottom where naked bodies were dangling upside down, moments before their eternal punishment. “We’re all destined for a hell one way or another—a personal one if we survive, a hot one if we die.”
Nathan sighed as he rubbed his forehead. “Can’t resist the dark side, can you? The damage could have been worse here. Look, the Dome is still intact, considering part of the roof caved in.” Nathan tilted his head upwards again. “We’ll come back some day, Nick, when it’s all spruced up.”
“I’m never returning.”
“Why don’t we keep on exploring the city? Sure to find some gems, despite everything.”
“What we’ll run into, Nate, are grey mounds of smashed stones lining the banks of the Arno. All those caved in church roofs from the impact of exploding mines.”
“I’ve got eyes. Why don’t you focus on a new life after the war? What do you say, Nick?”
“Let’s get out of here.”
“One more place, buddy. The Uffizi Gallery.”
“Why not!”
Though the museum was not open to the public,
Nathan, flashing his Intelligence ID, talked the security guard into letting them in for a brief visit. The hoary man waved them in but all they found were a few shrouded statues in the debris-filled hallways. Most of the rooms had the light outlines of where the pictures used to hang.
“What the hell, Nick! Everything is gone.”
“That’s wacky. Maybe the staff hid all the good stuff from the Nazis.”
“All I wanted was to peek under the protective covering to see Caravaggio’s The Sacrifice of Abraham.”
“If it were up to me, then Botticelli’s The Birth of Venus.”
An official from the museum walked into the room and spoke in English when he saw the American uniforms.
“Luigi di Nofri, il Direttore di Galleria degli Uffizi. I am sorry to say that you have wasted your time visiting our museum.”
“We had hoped to sneak a view of a few Italian masters,” Nathan said.
“There is a good reason the Uffizi is closed, gentlemen. As you can see, little remains. Before the top-level Nazi officer, General Wolff, fled the city, he commandeered the collections of the Uffizi Gallery and Pitti Palace. We will have to wait until the end of the war to get our masterpieces back. The guard said you work for a U.S. Intelligence unit. Perhaps you will be able to find out where the artwork is hidden.”
“We’ll get it back sooner or later,” Nathan said. “You can bet on it.” The official led them out to the street and they shook hands.
Before they got orders for their return to the states, a report had come into their unit that General Karl Wolff had ignored orders from the highest levels of the Nazi government to transport truckloads of the stolen art north across the border into the Reich. The General later risked his life to negotiate a secret Nazi surrender with American spymaster, Allen Dulles. All the hidden masterpieces found their way back to the Uffizi and other museums, after a special team uncovered them. Nick was relieved that their promise to the Director had been carried out and that Nate would be able to visit the Uffizi some day in all its former splendor.
By early September 1945, around 15,000 troops including Nick and Nathan were packed into every available space on the Queen Mary, its exterior painted navy grey and the interior stripped of all its luxurious decorations and amenities, having been outfitted as a troop ship since May of 1940. The staterooms were converted to triple-tiered standee bunks. The ocean liner nicknamed “The Grey Ghost” for its speed and color, moved dead slow out of Southampton harbor, its three smokestacks trailing funnels of vapor when it ramped up the knots out on the open sea.
They stayed on the deck for fresh air as much as possible, walking around the circumference of the ship for exercise and avoiding the noise and card playing inside the cramped quarters. Sometimes they jogged a lap, stopping at the middle of the bow to rest if Nick’s leg acted up.
“Nick, there’s two deck chairs free over there. Let’s sit.”
“This ship really cuts those waves, Nate. Separating us from the last several years.”
“Happy to be going home in one piece. Tell me something, buddy. Do you ever miss Caterina?”
“Nah, it’s all in the past now.”
“I don’t know if it’s the same for me.”
“Rachele!”
“Yeah, like a part of me is still in Assisi.”
“All you should be thinking about is going home. As soon as you see your family, you’ll be okay.”
“You’re very sure about that.”
“I can already hear the jazz playing at Jack’s tavern.”
Nick lied about everything being okay. Sure, he wanted to see his folks. Loved them to death. But he had no woman in his life, neither San Francisco nor Rome. Sure, he was happy to be alive but there were plenty of things in Italy to haunt him. It would take more than the soulful sounds of jazz to get him through his darker thoughts.
At the end of their long journey, the Queen Mary slipped into the New York Harbor and, when Nick and Nathan saw the Statue of Liberty, they burst out in a cheer, “The Grey Ghost” passing the Empire State Building on the right before nudging its king-size hull into the Cunard dock.
If ever there would be a time for Nick to be happy, this was one of those moments. They started off with an early supper at Nick’s aunt’s house in South Brooklyn. Zia Antonina, Gaetano’s sister, had a reputation as a cook only second to his mother’s from what he heard, Nathan’s eyes glistening with the thought of a cena deliziosa, his first in America. Afterwards they celebrated on 52nd Street, hopping from one jazz club to another, the bebop notes syncopating in the air, inside and outside, all night long until they crapped out in their hotel room.
There was still the long train ride home to California, starting with the New York Central’s Pacemaker to Chicago and then the “City of San Francisco” to Oakland. But first, Nick and Nathan had to report to Fort Dix, New Jersey, the following morning and get their physicals, and later on the “Separated from Service” papers, a tedious process they longed for, ending life in the military with its orders, restrictions and ever-present chance of death—il tutto, the whole shebang, il gran finale. Yet some things in the past have a nasty way of lingering, extending their shelf life and for Nick there were things he could not forget, others he did not want to remember or maybe it was a combination of both.
XXI
Stockton Street in North Beach looked the same to Nick as he sauntered down the block, a patch of green from Angel Island still rising at the end of the sloping street of attached houses with Victorian touches, though not nearly as detailed as those of Alamo Square. He made a promise to himself that he would not be seen with any sort of limp, the casual rhythm of his stride deflecting attention. A banner hung underneath the bay windows read ‘Welcome Home, Nicky’ and brought a smile to his face, countering a fleeting, dark memory of his father being dragged down those same steps that he was now climbing to a victory party, starting the second he opened the door.
“A toast to figghiu miu, Nicolo,” Gaetano announced operatically over Caruso’s voice, singing the aria, ‘ Vesti la giubba’ from Pagliacci on a 78 single, one of a collection that his father gathered over his lifetime in America. Someone turned the music down and Gaetano managed to quiet everyone for a moment. “We are proud of you and wish you bona fortuna. Salute!” A chorus of blessings continued, from Cent’anni to “Cheers.”
Lucia ran up to her son and kissed him on the forehead. She turned to the crowd. “May he marry subito. Eh, we need some bambini in casa mia.” Everyone toasted again and the laughter and conversation bounced off the tin ceiling, the noise carrying over to the backyards of the adjoining houses.
Streamers hung from the living room ceiling and a ‘Benvinutu a Casa Nicolo’ banner stretched above the couch. The dining room table was set with a linen tablecloth and his mother’s wedding china, which only left its display in a mahogany cabinet during holidays. Nick slumped onto the couch after countless baci e abbracci from family and neighborhood friends. The noise level rose as Nick scanned the room of familiar faces, amused by their animated expressions, but there was something bothering him throughout the festivities. His father pulled Nick up from the sofa and put his wide arm around his son, coaxing him to greet the new arrivals, everyone smiling, laughing, a few crying.
Paul’s family came in later, a moment that he had been dreading, and he was relieved that Ziu Francesco hadn’t shown up. Not that he didn’t admire his uncle who ran a successful, neighborhood business, not that he didn’t love his uncle, no, it was all about Paul. After an emotional greeting with the entire Burgio famigghia, Zia Concetta made no reference to Ziu Francesco’s conspicuous absence. Nick breathed in heavily when the door opened five minutes later and Ziu Francesco entered. The conversations quieted down as Nick’s uncle approached him. He sized his nephew up and down, hugged him, handing over a bottle of his homemade wine. No words were exchanged and Nick preferred it that way.
The chatter and laughter took off again, mixed with the wine
and beer and pitchers of Hurricane, a rum cocktail created in New Orleans during the war that Gaetano’s cousin had described to him in a letter. Nick grew to hate it with each taste. It became one of those moments in a movie where all you saw were the lips of people moving but no sound. Nick became disoriented and began to sweat from traces of pain in his leg. The moment he had dreaded was over and there had been no scene at all with his uncle. He still felt empty inside, despite those many nights dreaming of riding his bicycle again along the bay, going over the red bridge and seeing his father sail under it a free man, and maybe even running into Deborah. He wanted to be as happy as all those smiling faces that greeted him like Mamma and Papà. The noise level spiked again to a high volume, just like the sound of a film rushing back to end a scene, the camera focusing in on the main character. Nick was back home.
Later in the evening, after most of the people had left the party, Nathan stopped by. Nick led his friend into the rear garden, holding an open bottle of red wine and two highball glasses.
“Let’s sit on top of the picnic table. We can get a bird’s-eye view of the sky.”
“You haven’t changed, Nick.” Nathan laughed. “Stars and birds. For me, I’ll take people, starting with you, buddy.”
“Have some wine.” Nick poured and handed him a glass, watching his friend drink. “So what do you think?”
“Smells and tastes of southern Italy. Has a homemade quality, but it’s good stuff.” Nathan grabbed the bottle and observed that the label had the type and year, Zinfandel 1944.
“It came all the way from San Francisco.” Nick revealed a set smile. “Paul’s father gave it to me.”
“How’s he holding up?”
“Hard to say what a person feels. Let’s try and enjoy his gift of wine.” Nick poured more wine in both of the glasses and drank all of his. “My cousin, Maria, is getting married next year, you know. What a looker!” Nick drank half his wine and stared at the ground. “My father gave up fishing. He just tends to his garden. My mom is still working as a seamstress.” Nick rubbed his hand over the wine label. “Anyway, a little remembrance.” Nick held up the bottle. “My last time with cuginu Paul at my house.” Nick drank the glass in one gulp and poured another one for himself. “Why do I have all this dang guilt, Nate?”
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